"I know just the thing." Chris went about fixing Peter a drink, sliding it over to him when it was ready "Learned this recipe in a seedy hole in the wall in France," he stated. He slid his own drink to the customer side of the bar and moved around to sit on the stool in front of the glass.
Peter looked a little weary, a little worn around the edges. Chris couldn't blame him there. His life hadn't been easy in recent years. Neither had Chris'. They were soldiers, recruited for a war they hadn't signed up for. And the'd come out alive, which was saying something.
"What's your take on this place?" Chris asked him, with a deliberate gaze around the room, meant to encompass the hotel beyond the bar.